Broken Arrow
by BackwardEdge
Summary: Aurelius Avis has a conversation with his wayward charge. Set after the events of Oblivion. [Oneshot]


**-[BA]-**

* * *

**Disclaimer:  
**TES : Oblivion related characters and content all belong to Bethesda. The lunatic who is narrating however, belongs to yours truly.

**Authors Note:  
**Well... _shiiiiiit_.

Judging by the reactions from both the TES community and the few Oblivion players I know personally, it widely seems that the outcome of the Main quest had been way more emotionally triggering then I think it was intended too - and lets face it, both Oblivion and Skyrim have their share of emotional quests.

This piece of fiction was supposed to be what the Hero of Kvatch feels afterwards... but then I released (And let me tell you, listening to the Lie to Me theme tune, "Brand New Day" happened to have something to do with it), we know what he/she feels afterwards to some extent. Then I started having these ideas... and, well.

What would the view point of a close childhood friend have been like?

The Narrator here isn't the Hero of Kvatch, warning you now. He's just... him. Which means you better start packing some energy drinks because his narration runs about a mile a minute. Oh - and don't go flaming me for the grammar, the narrator has a terrible sense of verbal correctness. It's intentional. Lastly, if you've ever read my 'Show no Quarter' Fic, then you may notice some similarities between him and the Legate, Barnabas Quintillus. Take a guess to why that is ;)

Per usual, reviews are highly appreciated. I'm only ever aiming to improve, after all - and if you want to see some more of Aurelius, all you have to do is ask.

**Warnings:  
**Rated T for language and mild references to self-harm. Quite mild, in a way. For me at least.

* * *

**Broken Arrow.**

"Martin," I murmur, addressin' your statue like some kinda hallucinating drunk, "S'pleasure old boy."

Was thinkin' about calling you something abusive today, like usual, like normal, but I can't. It just doesn't feel right anymore. I tried, at one point, honest n' all, but s'kinda getting harder. Keep on tryin' to keep everythin normal, but it's pretty fucking obvious that it's not gonna work. Jauffre thinks moving on is the right idea, he usually does. Has the right idea, I mean.

At least that aint changed, right?

Ugh.

Had a real bad fucking morning, son. Not like, really bad. I aint hada' meltdown or nothing and it's not exactly apocalyptic, but I think ya get what I'm on about... or at least, you used to. Not sure what's up with you at the moment, nor do I really wanna know. Rest of the Empire won't let it go, they keep on comin' up with theories and speculations, and there's this buncha snotty nosed prats with their heads up their asses making statements. Some say yer' dead, others say you're missing; some idiot even had the fucking gall to say you took the opportunity to bolt.

Fuck em', anyway. This aint' about them. All I know is yer' unaccounted for. Guess it's only natural, huh?

It'll do for now, I think.

So yeah, my pissy morning. It's not bad, it's just... wrong. Woke up late so I can't keep track of the time properly, realised I got plastered the night before so I can't remember shit, Ocato pulled me outda work again, so I'm frustrated. Tried to work out a few simple things but I can't fucking concentrate. It's a load of small little roadblocks that keep on building on up to build a barricade, and like ya said, I'm a man of small details, so it's obvious – but nobody else can fucking SEE it, so I'm facing it alone.

I can't think straight, son. Can't keep on coping. Everything used to be regimented, normal, perfect, _bearable_. Even when it went to shit, you remember, you were there. Remember?

You used to say that it was all boring and crap, having everything set out and orderly, but, _huh_, then again. You were different, I suppose. Back then. Guess we both where. Before and after Kvatch-

FUCK. That's one thing I hadn't wanted to remember...

Anyway, they are rebuilding, forgot to mention that. Yeah. I'm not going back, they tried to play the home cards, you know. "You'd act as a great figurehead for the people, yada _yada yada._" and all that bullshit, but we both know that's not where I belong. Used to get pulled around in loads of different directions, I still do, despite events.

Some things never truly change...

_Uuuugh_, by the fuckin' gods, now I sound like some kinda poet, turns out you were right when alcohol makes me feck'ing philosophical.

Damn.

Yeah, sorry 'bout that. Know you don't like it when I get shitfaced, but, it's easier then thinking nowadays. Just turns into a dull sludge, everything blurs. Oh, and one important thing. Jus' want you to know I'm casually calculating the pros and cons of suicide. Again. Thought I'd warn you, because then at least _someone_ knows.

I don't want the kid to know, she doesn't understand, cause at the moment she's too lost to realise. She needs... someone. Supposed to be you, but, well fuck, you aint here are ya?

Don't you even fucking consider me replacing ya, or I swear down I'll...

_I'll_...

See... heh... what in Oblivion can I do?

Yeah, the kid. She's the Imperial Champion now, the little git. Suppose Ocato and his minions thought it'd keep her sane or some such crap. But she's hurtin' real bad. The others don't realise, cause their plebeians, but I do. It's pretty fucking obvious. Lines on her face, circles under her eyes, the way she glances away, the way she tries to control her expression whenever you're mentioned, the fact her shoulders become tenser whenever she's with anyone, cause they are... softer... when she's alone. Like she's hidin' something from the world, from us.

Well, we both know what she's hiding. What we're both hiding – s'all the same at its base, grief loss. It's identical, but it comes about in different ways.

So yeah.

Thought about flinging myself of the top of Cloud Ruler today, s'not a great thing, I know. But it's comprehensible and that's what fucking matters. Can't do numbers, so I'll fall back on the other things I understand.

And you know what, asshole?! Since you've gone, that list has shortened down a hell'ova lot.

_Sorry_...

Sorry.

It's just that, I don't know what I'm gonna do anymore. No point investigating, it doesn't feel right – that, and hell, nobody wants me doing it anyway, supposed to be moving on to 'bigger and better things!'... but hell, fuck that. Nothing's happening, but everything's still changing. Like I said, remember, back when you asked me why I do it;

"I'm your bodyguard till you die,"

And honestly, I never really thought about what would happen if my words turned out true.

Gods... what am I going to do now?

Eh, fuck it.

It's not like m'gonna do it anyway. If that's any fucking reassurance. Too many excuses; you, little miss champion, Juaffre... me too, really. Cause I should hate myself for thinking about it, and yet I hate myself for even considering the fact that it even gives a shit. Because, come on. You're dead, she'll move on, Juaffre HAS moved on. I'm the one stood here like a fecking' melon trying and failing to let go.

I could let go, right now. Self-asphyxiation, with my own hands, right now and no sorry fucker is going to stop me. Chances are I'll fall unconscious sure, it's happened before, you remember, don't you? You fucking remember, you've stopped me before, Martin. None of them would stop me, hell, half of them 'prolly think it's a good thing! They don't realise that I'm a broken arrow. So what's the point of me staying here? With the rest of these generic Fetchers?!

...

What's the point...?

You being you, you'd come up with something. I just wish you were here to make me see it.

This hurts, you know. This hurts way too much... but it's the truth, isn't it? Cold hard facts, even though it hurts.

"An' I don't blame ya for it."

S'true. Wasn't your fault any of this happened, you never exactly asked for it and I understand that, I know it seems I don't, sometimes, but I do. Really. Honest. Guess it's just another example how cruel life really can be. How it snatches people from ya, never askin' and not waiting for goodbyes. It just does it, plain and simple.

Still, everything is fucking shitty without you. I guess watching your back was, _well_, I guess it meant a little more to me then I realised. Hate that, sudden realisation. Leaves you feeling like you've been socked in the stomach by an orc, winded - and perhaps a little disorientated.

So, back to the reason I'm here. Or why, I keep on insisting on staying here. I need to... I...

I guess what I wanted to say was...

"Naw, fuck it." I sigh, waving a hand in the vague direction of what would have been your face. I turn on a heel and head back, my boots echo against the broken walls, firmly, hastily, retreating into the darkness – But I do glance back, when I get within at least two hundred and thirty meters from the doors.

"See ya around, Martin."

You being you... you'd already know what I was going to say.


End file.
